The White Flower and the Green Kirtle
by Gryphinwyrm7
Summary: In January of '98, Griff and Arthur take a trip out to Glastonbury Tor in their search for Merlin. There Arthur runs into an old friend, and Griff faces the test of his life.
1. Chapter 1

**Gargoyles: Pendragon**

 **The Green Kirtle and the White Flower**

 **Jan 9** **th** **, 1998 Glastonbury Tor**

A beat up old lorry sputtered away and pulled into the empty parking lot near the Magdeline Chapel. It was the wee hours of the morning, and the dawn would be breaking soon.

Two figures stepped out of the truck, the driver was cloaked, and kept his hood up, lest anyone see. The cloaked figure's companion; a man in his fifties wearing a blue trench coat climbed out of the vehicle and quietly opened the boot of the lorry.

The cloaked figure looked around surreptitiously and then removed his cloak, revealing that he was not a human at all, but rather a tall, dark green griffin, dressed in leather, and sporting a sleek green Mohawk. The inner lining of his wings were a deep maroon. A single, oddly shaped gun rested in a holster on his belt.

"Are you sure about this, your majesty?" Griff commented. "This place really shouldn't have been on our list. There's nothing here for us."

The bearded man looked wistfully over the cityscape.

"We should leave no stone unturned, Sir Griff," Arthur said, quietly.

"Old Pog knows more than most gargoyles ever forget," Griff said stubbornly. "And he said that the Arthurian connections to this place were made up by 12th century monks trying to recover economically after a fire. They needed pilgrims."

"I would agree with you and Elder Pog," Arthur replied smiling. "Were it not for one thing. This IS where Castle Carbonek appeared to Sir Tristram."

"I…did not know that," Griff said, frowning. "What exactly is Castle Carbonek?"

"The Castle of the Holy Grail," Arthur said. "Where the cup that held Christ's Blood came to rest after Joseph of Arimathea brought it out of the Holy Land. It is enchanted. It moves from place to place. Only those worthy enough to see it can even _find_ it. And being worthy enough to see it is special enough. Only five Knights achieved that. Of those five, only three could cross the threshold of the castle."

"Fascinating," Griff commented.

"Sir Galahad, Sir Peredur, and Sir Bhors were all worthy to cross the threshold. After drinking of the Grail, Galahad ascended to heaven."

"He died?!" Griff asked, taking the keys to the lorry and locking the doors to the vehicle, which they had borrowed from the London Clan.

"He ascended, Sir Griff," Arthur said. "Much like the prophet Elijah or the Patriarch Enoch. Went directly to heaven without shedding their mortal body."

"Right," Griff said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was not all that familiar with human religious traditions.

"Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristram found the castle at different times," Arthur continued. "Though when they attempted to cross, they were rendered unconscious for ten days, before awakening, and then having to face some sort of beast. Sir Lancelot battled a wyvern, or so he claimed."

"Why couldn't they cross?" Griff wondered.

"Sir Tristram was unable to cross because of his affair with Isolde. He recognized and understood that this prevented him access to the Grail, and departed willingly, returning to Camelot in shame."

"Sir Lancelot attempted to cross through the gates of Carbonek Eleven more times, before Sir Gawain had to force him to return to Camelot. The thirteenth attempt may very well have killed him."

"But why couldn't Lancelot cross?" Griff wondered out loud, before suddenly realizing that the answer was standing in front of him.

"I…I'm sorry, your majesty," Griff said. "I…I spoke out of…I should have realized."

"As should I have, Sir Griff," Arthur said. "But I didn't. Not until it was too late. The books at Knight's Spur indicated that two bodies were discovered here in the twelfth century, identified as those of Guinevere and myself. Obviously not my own remains, as I am not dead."

"Those bodies were lost just a few centuries later," Griff said, folding his arms. "I read the same books that you did."

"Nevertheless," Arthur said. "It is a place to start."

"A place for you to start, perhaps," Griff said, pointing towards the eastern horizon. "Unfortunately that traffic in London delayed us just a little too much. I can't help you until tomorrow night."

"I shall guard you during the day," Arthur swore.

"No need your majesty," Griff said, pointing towards a nearby cemetery. Arthur noticed several stone griffins and other heraldic beasts atop tombstones and mausoleums. "I'm fairly certain that I won't stand out in there. And you can use the time to investigate."

"Until the sun sets, my friend," Arthur said, saluting his knight.

Griff smirked and darted into the cemetery. He loped over to the base of a tree, noticing an empty alcove in the moss-covered wall on the far side of the tree. The alcove was empty, but there were statues in the alcoves on either side of the empty one.

 _Perfect,_ Griff thought, leaping into the alcove just in time. The sun breeched the horizon, and the sun froze him in stone. A tall figure in a green cloak stepped out from behind the tree. The emerald-clad figure glanced over in Arthur's direction and then back to Griff's stone form.

Arthur, satisfied that Griff slept safely, departed for the town, unable to see the green-clad figure against the green moss covered wall.

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Arthur made a beeline for the nearby Nightstone's Coffeehouse that rested at the edge of the town. He silently cursed Macbeth for getting him addicted to the brew. He vaguely wondered about how quickly the franchise seemed to be popping up everywhere.

But regardless of the addiction, Arthur had found the concoctions sold at the coffeehouses invaluable. It can be a difficult thing, to befriend a gargoyle. If one is active at night, and then must stay up through the morning, protecting the gargoyle while they sleep, then stimulants are required.

After consuming his beverage, Arthur quietly joined a tour group being lead through Glastonbury. A tour group he found himself unable to stay in, as each time the guide said something with regard to Arthurian myth, Arthur had to restrain himself from saying anything. Or arguing with the guide, as had happened when visiting Tintagel Castle last fall.

Arthur quietly returned to the Nightstone's Coffeehouse. He ordered another drink, and sat in the corner, quietly pulling out C.S. Lewis's _That Hideous Strength_ , and opened the book. He read for over an hour before his eyelids grew heavy, and quietly nodded off. Even an immortal king needs to sleep every once in a while.

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 **Manhattan 1:32PM**

Matt Bluestone awoke abruptly. Someone was in his apartment. Ever since Tony Dracon's men blew up his apartment 2 years previous, he had always been jumpy; but now he was very aware that there was someone in the apartment with him.

"I do apologize, Detective Bluestone, for the intrusion," a voice said, quietly stepping out of the shadows. "But I required a…Private audience with you."

Matt sat upright in his bed, taking in the stranger.

He was short. Around '5"3, but built like a truck. Scratch that, Matt felt sure that if this man got in a fight with a truck, the truck would lose. He had a permanent scowl etched upon his face, emphasized by two thin scars over his face. Something in Matt's gut told him that a gargoyle made them, a VERY long time ago.

He was dressed very frugally, but modern. All black.

Matt glanced at the dresser by his bed where he kept his sidearm.

"I can respect a man whose first instinct is to go for his weapon when confronted by a stranger," the man said. "But it's not a fight you can win, detective, and I don't mean you any harm. I just need to ask you a few questions."

"You seem to have caught me at a disadvantage," Matt said. "You know who I am, but I don't know who you are."

"Allow me to introduce myself then," the stranger said. "Three."

Matt stared blankly at the stranger for a moment, not fully realizing what he was saying, and then slowly dawning comprehension.

"Uh…Thirty-Six?" he said at last. He was standing in his bedroom with a member of the upper echelon.

The stranger smiled.

"Detective Bluestone," 'Three' said, matter-of-factly. "For six months, your partner Elisa Maza was on Avalon, using the enchanted mists of that island to travel the earth."

Matt hesitated. He wanted to immediately deny what "Three" had said, and instinctively cover for Elisa. But it was the truth. And a not-commonly-known truth at that. The Illuminati already knew that it was the truth. There was no real point in denying it.

"Um…yes, that's…what happened," Matt said, swallowing.

"Here is what I want to know," 'Three' said. "What actually happened on Avalon? Why is King Arthur awake and returned, and most important of all…Where is King Arthur _now?_ "

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At that very moment, King Arthur was drooling in his sleep. He was stirred awaked by a barista.

"Sir?" she asked. "Nightstone's is closing. I'm afraid that you have to go."

"Of course," Arthur said, peeling a few notes from his wallet, to leave as a tip on the table. "Thank you for indulging my nap."

Arthur exited the coffeehouse and checked the time on the watch that Lunette had given him for Christmas. 3:16PM. It was about an hour until sunset. He was so distracted that he almost stumbled over a young woman in her early twenties.

"Apologies, Milady," Arthur said, bowing and turning towards the graveyard where Griff slept.

"'Milady?'" the woman asked, with a light French accent. She suddenly gasped.

"Arthur!?" She yelped in surprise.

The Once and Future King froze, turning towards the stranger.

"I fear you have mistaken me for another, milady," Arthur said tactfully.

"No mistake, Arthur Pendragon," she said, tears of joy in her eyes. "I've been seeking you. I heard you had awakened early, but I didn't quite believe it…yet here you are, in the flesh."

Arthur was suddenly on guard. Few people in the modern era knew who he was. And he could not guarantee that those who did were ally or enemy. His hand shifted towards his sword, concealed beneath his trench coat.

"Arthur Pendragon," the blond Frenchwoman said, looking almost upset. "Do you not recognize me? It has been 1,500 years, and I'd wager I'm in better health than I was in the 5th century, but I know that I haven't aged. The Grail saw to that."

Arthur's eyes widened, as he finally placed the woman standing before him. Not a friend, per say…an acquaintance. Someone he had met in passing a few times, but never had and deep or memorable conversations with…

"Queen Blanchefleur!" Arthur said, all tension suddenly gone. "Sir Percival's bride. The Grail Queen…of course. Oh how could I have not guessed!"

Not usually an emotional man, nevertheless Arthur couldn't help himself. He surged forward and hugged the slimmer woman. It had been too long since he had seen…anyone really, from his own time period. Even an acquaintance such as Blanchefleur was welcome.

"Your Majesty," the Grail Queen said, returning the hug. "I tend to go by 'Fleur' these days, if you will."

"And Sir Percival?" Arthur asked, breaking the embrace. "With the Grail at his command, does he still live too?"

Fleur suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "The man that I married…the man that I fell in love with…He is dead."

Arthur frowned. The way that she had phrased that was unusual; it made him anxious and suspicious. Not emotions that he was particularly accustomed to.

"What of Sir Bhors?" Arthur asked. "Is he Fisher King in Percival's stead?"

"Sir Bhors was…killed in the Seventh Century," Fleur said, not looking Arthur in the eye. It wasn't until just now that she realized she hadn't thought her plans out further than 'Actually find King Arthur'. He was now asking questions that she was not quite prepared to answer immediately.

"It's complicated," Fleur said. "It has been 1,500 years. A lot has happened."

"We shall have plenty of time to discuss it, I am sure," Arthur said, smiling. He began walking, gently guiding her in the direction of the graveyard where Sir Griff slept.

"And you…you have already recovered Excalibur, I see," Fleur marveled. _The Illuminati didn't even know where it was. They spent centuries looking for it._

"Aye," Arthur acknowledged. "With the help of my friend, Sir Griff."

" _Sir_ Griff?" Fleur wondered. "You have a Knighted Champion. A modern Knight. Of course…that's how you've managed to remain undetected. You have had help. I should have guessed. You were always a leader of men. When can I meet this Champion?"

"He is sleeping at the moment," Arthur said. "You will-,"

Arthur stopped abruptly.

"Arthur?" Fleur inquired.

The wall, and the alcove where Sir Griff had been slumbering were gone. As if they had never been there.

"He is gone!" Arthur exclaimed.

"What?" Fleur asked.

"Sir Griff," Arthur said. "He was asleep within this cemetery when I went to the Nightstone's Coffee."

"And you are certain he didn't just go to the restroom or something?'

"No," Arthur said. "Sir Griff could not leave this post, at least not for another 45 minutes. You see, Sir Griff is-,"

"Hold that thought, your Majesty," Fleur said, suddenly frowning, taking note of a tall man with slick oily hair in an Armani suit nearby.

"I have an idea of who kidnapped your Knight," she scowled.

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Matt Bluestone sidled up next to his partner and grabbed her arm. Quietly guiding her into the interrogation room. Elisa didn't react. Just followed along. If it had been anyone else, they'd have had a one-way trip to the ICU in their future for grabbing her arm like this.

But Elisa knew her partner. She knew he wouldn't be this quiet and this intense without a reason. Most cops knew their partner better than their own spouses. While Elisa wouldn't say she knew Matt better than Goliath, she definitely knew him well enough to know something was up.

Matt led her into the Observation room and locked the door. He did a quick look around the room to make sure that there weren't any bugs.

"I got visited by a member of the Upper Echelon of the Illuminati today. Scariest moment of my life," Matt said. "Scariest guy I've ever met. And I've gone toe to toe with mob bosses. Thing is though…He was interested in _you._ "

"Me?" Elisa said, slightly taken aback.

"Yeah," Matt said. "You. And King Arthur. He sounded desperate to find out what happened on Avalon."

"What did you tell him?" Elisa asked, her eyes narrowing.

"The truth. Or part of it, anyway. Pretty sure that if I lied, he'd have known, and this guy would have snapped my neck. I told him about the Archmage's siege of Avalon, and how you woke him up to defend the island. Then I told him that Arthur chose to venture beyond the mists of his own accord."

"That's it?" Elisa asked.

"Yeah," Matt said. "I neglected to mention the part where I got to meet Arthur himself four months ago at your commitment ceremony. Must have slipped my mind."

Elisa smiled at that.

"We should probably warn Arthur that someone's gunning for him. Lexington has been emailing a member of the London Clan on a daily basis. I'll ask him to pass a message on."

"Good idea," Matt said.

"And…I think that you and I maybe should talk to Brooklyn," Elisa said, biting her lip.

"Brooklyn? Why?"

"He spent forty years traveling up and down the time stream," Elisa said. "And some of the…more cryptic stuff he's mentioned offhandedly sort of sounds like he's had a run-in or two with your friends the Illuminati. I think maybe it's time you compared notes."

"Huh," Matt said. It honestly hadn't occurred to him before. Elisa spent more time with the clan in general, so she tended to pick up more than he did, but now he felt almost foolish for not talking to the resident time traveler about the Illuminati.

"The Clan will be getting back to the castle from their patrol at 2AM," Elisa said, unlocking the Observation Room door. "In the meantime…Let's check the security footage from around your apartment and see if we can't get something useful about your visitor."

"Good idea," Matt said, following Elisa's lead. He may have been the conspiracy theorist, but Elisa's cop instincts gave her the objective edge when it came to the Illuminati.

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Watson Doyle quietly pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He was a tall, olive skinned man, dressed well. He had slicked back black hair and a solid black Armani suit trimmed with gold and green. He had a green ascot tucked under his neck.

3:45. _Good,_ he thought. _Only a half-hour until Falstaff arrives with the-._

He snapped his pocket watch shut as the willowy platinum blond approached him. _Blanchefleur?_ He wondered. He'd always had a bit of a thing for the Upper Echelon woman. It was no secret in the top 10s that she and her husband were on the outs. Watson longed to be the one to win her affections, but he never allowed his crush to mar his professionalism.

"Five," he said immediately acknowledging his superior.

"What the Bloody Hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Aren't you supposed to say 'Three'?" Watson asked looking rather confused.

"I asked you a question," Fleur glared pointedly.

"The same as you, I would imagine, my Queen," Watson said, taking Fleur's hand and kissing it. "Mycroft doesn't trust me to do a simple artifact relocation, so he asked you to do it. Without informing you that I was coming at all, it would seem. Typical. A hundred years and he still hates my guts."

"Can you blame him?" Fleur asked.

"I suppose not," Watson said. "Well, it doesn't matter. The job is simple enough."

Watson walked over and pressed on an Illuminati symbol badly etched into the wall next to the graveyard. A nook slid open next to the wall. Watson reached into the nook and pulled out a simple sword scabbard. It was blue, with Pendragon's crest insignia in the center.

Fleur sucked in a deep breath. _Oh no_ , she thought.

"The scabbard of Excalibur," Watson said. "Duval wants it transported to Eastcheap."

 _I'll bet he does,_ Fleur thought. "I can take the scabbard from here."

"Ah," Watson said, snatching the scabbard back from her reach before she could grab it. "As much I have a great deal of respect for you, Fleur, I was assigned this task by Mycroft. I very much wish to accomplish the task, and rub his face in it."

"That's all well and good, J-," Fleur started to say.

"It's _Watson_ Doyle, now," Watson protested. "I don't use my former name. Haven't in decades."

"Fine," Fleur said between gritted teeth. "Just give me the scabbard."

Watson furrowed his brow.

"Why do you…"

"Queen Blanchefleur," Arthur's voice spoke from behind her. "Are you all right?"

"Sire," Fleur whispered hoarsely. "I asked you to wait by the cemetery…"

"Sire?" Watson frowned. "Fleur, who is this man?"

"That is the scabbard of Excalibur," Arthur said, stepping up next to Fleur, frowning. "How did you come to have that?"

"How do you know that this is the scabbard of Excalibur?" Watson asked, looking very annoyed.

"I am, Arthur Pendragon," Arthur said. "It is _my_ scabbard. And _this_ is its blade."

Arthur drew his sword and held it aloft in front of him, pointing it at Watson, who stepped back somewhat dumbfounded.

Watson surveyed the two of them, his mind suddenly calculating.

"Duval doesn't know you are here, does he?" Watson said.

"Duval?" Arthur frowned.

"Things are about to become very interesting, very fast," Watson said grinning. "And look at that…Falstaff is early."

Fleur's head snapped around, and sure enough, the steward of Eastcheap Island was quietly approaching them, his minions Doll, Points, and Pistol behind him.

" _Pute_ ," Fleur swore.

All hell broke loose.

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Griff awakened from his stone sleep with a triumphant roar, splintering shards of stone skin all around him.

He frowned. He was in a dimly lit cave with torches along the walls.

"Well this isn't where I turned to stone," he murmured absently.

"Arthur? Your Majesty? No? I didn't think so."

He drew his Lightning Gun and cautiously stepped forward.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," he said.

A feminine scream suddenly echoed through the cave ahead of him.

"I need to learn to keep my big beak shut," he said, nevertheless running towards the sound of the screaming woman.

 _To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Gargoyles: Pendragon**

 **The Green Kirtle and the White Flower**

Griff darted forward through the caverns tunnels, not entirely sure where he was going, but hoping he was following the sound of the feminine scream. He made a sharp right turn and plowed right into a female gargoyle. Griff had been walking briskly on two legs, while she had been loping on all fours; he had literally tripped over her.

Griff's Lightning Gun clattered onto a nearby rock, and Griff winced as he saw that the electrical emitters had cracked on impact. Macbeth had warned him never to fire the weapon in that state; it was liable to explode on you. The casing had a hairline crack on it as well. Griff quietly tucked the broken weapon into the holster on his belt, before turning his attentions towards the gargoyle he'd tripped on, who had gotten herself to her feet was dusting herself off.

She reminded Griff of Angela of the Manhattan Clan. Similar body shape, same wing style, brown hair, etc. But this gargoyle was green. A deep forest green, similar to his own coloring. She wore a brownish-green kirtle, and clearly nothing underneath, allowing her tail freedom from the bottom of her dress, and her wings freedom from her back.

Griff blinked. She was kind of cute in a Scottish gargoyle sort of way. But she looked utterly terrified.

"Are you all right?" Griff asked.

She looked surprised by Griff's presence, but said nothing. She pointed back in the direction she came from, and then tapped her neck. There was a large, ugly scar around her neck.

"You can't speak, can you?" Griff asked.

She shook her head.

"What are you running from?" Griff asked. He drew his lightning gun instinctively before remembering that the emitters were broken. He holstered the gun again and began walking in the direction she came from. The green skinned female rushed forward and grabbed Griff's arm; attempting to pull him back.

"You can run my dear," a voice called out. "But I'm afraid that hiding is impossible."

Griff immediately realized that whoever it was, was hunting the gargoyle behind him. He growled, his eye igniting like magnesium flares.

The green skinned gargoyle tugged on Griff's arm more urgently, trying to pull him away. But it was too late.

Her pursuer stepped into view. A tall man dressed in green camouflage holding a large hunting rifle. He had what looked like a giant executioner's axe strapped to his back.

"A Griffin?" The man asked, frowning at Griff.

"Just another word for 'gargoyle'," Griff said, his eyes flaring white. "And I don't appreciate someone hunting my kind."

"My name is Roy Bredbeddle," the hunter said. "I am the greatest trophy hunter in the world. The moment that I became aware that gargoyles existed, I knew I had to have one's head mounted on my wall."

"That's sick!" Griff snapped angrily.

"That's the greatest trophy of all!" Bredbeddle responded, smirking. "But unfortunately, Manhattan isn't the best location in the world for a trophy hunt. The Caledonian Forest however…I was able to bag this beauty. Oh she managed to escape from me, and make her way down into these caves-."

"Which caves would those be?" Griff inquired, interrupting the hunter's train of thought.

"Wookey Hole Caves, of course," Roy said in obvious irritation at being interrupted.

"Right," Griff said, thinking. _That's not far from Glastonbury Tor, if I remember the signs by the road correctly… Still doesn't answer how I got moved here during the day, though._

"Listen," Griff said out loud, looking back at the obviously frightened female gargoyle.

"I call her 'Brianna'," Roy commented.

"Most clans don't use names," Griff snarled back, almost defensively.

"I just wanted a name to call the head I'm going to mount on my wall," Roy chuckled back.

"About that," Griff said, commenting and looking back at "Brianna" again. "Wouldn't you rather hunt me?"

"Come again?" Roy said, looking surprised.

"You're a trophy hunter, right? Everyone knows that the buck is the more valuable trophy. Antlers. Lion's manes, what have you. Well I'm the buck. The male gargoyle. Hunt me instead, and let her go."

"An amusing bargain." Roy said, reaching up and stroking his mustache. "I accept. You would be the more…Stunning trophy on the wall. But you realize, of course, that means that at the end of the hunt, I'll claim your head."

Roy gestured back at the axe strapped to his back.

"I'll take that chance," Griff said.

"I'll give you a ten minute head start," Roy smiled. "The Hunt begins…NOW!"

Brianna grabbed Griff's arm and the two of them dropped to all fours, loping forward into the cavern, past the camo-clad hunter.

Griff wasn't sure if he was going deeper into the caves, or closer to the exit. But either way, he was sure he was much closer to being stuffed and mounted than he ever had been before.

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"Falstaff," Watson Doyle said quietly. "Detain these two, immediately."

John Oldcastle blinked in surprise.

"That's Fleur," he said frowning.

"I'm aware," Watson replied, snippily.

"She's Upper Echelon," Falstaff said, blankly.

"Yes, I know," Watson said. "And whatever it is that she's doing here, she's doing it with this absolute stranger…and definitely without Duval's permission or approval. I think that he will want to know why."

Falstaff glanced at Fleur, and then to King Arthur, whose sword was still drawn.

"Fine. But I want it on record that I do this under protest. Points; the swordsman. Doll; the…Queen Fleur."

Before either of Falstaff's goons could react, there was a swift motion from Fleur. Watson Doyle doubled over in pain, clutching at his groin. Fleur had kneed him in his most vulnerable spot.

She snatched the sword scabbard out of Watson's hands and then tossed it to Arthur. The Once and Future King quietly discarded the ordinary scabbard that he had been carrying on his belt.

"Come on Arthur," Fleur said, running over and grabbing Arthur's arm. "We have to go, _now_!"

"Pistol!" Falstaff said as the Timeless Royals turned and began running back towards the main village.

"No!" Watson wheezed from the ground. "We must capture them. Not hurt them."

"But if Fleur really is a traitor…" Falstaff began.

"It doesn't matter. If you harm one hair on Fleur's head, Duval will have _your_ head on a spike outside of Carbonek."

"What of the other one?" 

"Trust me," Watson said, as Doll and Points helped him to his feet. "I think Duval is going to want to talk to him as well."

Meanwhile, Arthur and Fleur ducked into the alleyway behind the Nightstone's Coffee.

"That man had a gun." Arthur said, quietly. "But he did not shoot. He could not have known that the power of the scabbard of Excalibur will only heal the blade's chosen wielder. So there must have been another reason he did not shoot us."

Fleur grimaced, but refused to look Arthur directly in the eye.

"My lady," Arthur said, sternly looking at his fellow Camelot Survivor. "I do believe that you owe me an explanation."

Fleur sighed heavily.

"That I do, your majesty," She said after another moment of silence. "Our enemies are called 'The Illuminati Society'. They were founded a hundred years after the fall of Camelot, and are run by a powerful cabal of Immortals. I…I am, or was anyway, a member."

"Why?" Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"Why was the Society founded, or why was I a part of it?" Fleur asked, still refusing to look Arthur in the eye.

"Both," Arthur said.

"When it was founded, I believed in the ideal. It was about setting things right. Making the world better."

"And now?"

"The Illuminati has become corrupted. Maybe it always was. Sir Bhors certainly thought so. It's why he objected to it. Maybe I should have left then, back in the 7th century. But I was young…well younger…and scared at the time. And I didn't know just how low the Society was going to stoop."

"What is the purpose of this 'Illuminati Society'?" Arthur demanded.

"Nothing less than complete world domination," Fleur said. "By any disgusting, repulsive means necessary."

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"Okay," Elisa said, frowning as they looked over the security footage from Matt's apartment building. "This guy is good. He managed to be seen by every camera in the building, yet not one of them caught his face."

"It's a secret organization running the world, Elisa," Matt said quietly. "I know you've never been interested, but by nature, they sort of _have_ to be good. Or else everyone would know about them already."

"And you said that this guy is one of the bosses?"

"Upper Echelons, yeah," Matt said warily, looking over his shoulder. "There's six hundred and sixty six member…or at least there's spaces for six hundred and sixty six members, probably less at any given moment. And no, the ironic nature of that number is not lost on me, despite the fact that I'm Jewish. But there's one One, two Twos, three Threes, all the way down to the thirty-six Thirty-Sixes, which includes Xanatos and myself. I don't actually know any of the other 36s. This guy is one of the Threes."

"Definitely need to talk to Brooklyn," Elisa muttered.

"We're not gonna get anything off these," Matt said finally. "And it's almost 2am. We still want to meet the clan after patrol."

"There might just be one more option, partner," Elisa said, pointing across the street.

"The bank?" 

"The Bank ATM has a camera, and your friend 'Three' might just have forgotten to avoid that particular camera, if someone was withdrawing money."

"Worth a shot, I guess," Matt replied.

 _Fifteen Minutes later…_

"I'm beginning to see why this guy scared you," Elisa said as they stood in the security room at the First Bank of Manhattan, across the street from Matt's apartment building.

Matt's visitor's face was on the camera, right in front of the ATM, casually taking money out of the ATM. He looked up at the camera, smirking. He then mouthed something slowly and clearly to the camera, before turning and walking away.

"Did he just…" Elisa started to ask.

"'Hello Detectives'," Matt said, quoting out loud what the scarred man had mouthed to the camera. "'Say hello to Brooklyn for me.'"

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Griff bounded through the underground catacombs, the fair 'Brianna' at his side. There was something off about this whole situation that he couldn't quite put his talon on.

Before he could dwell too much on the situation, he turned a corner and entered a larger chamber. In the center of the chamber stood a white-skinned female gargoyle with equine features.

"Una?" Griff gasped.

"Griff!" she cried out, and rushed over to him. "Oh Griff, we were so worried about you."

She embraced him the same way that they had when she was younger…back in the 1940s…which Griff had been a mere two years previous. Two years that he hadn't been able to touch her. He craved her touch. The scent of her hair in his beak, like lilacs and honeysuckle.

Before he realized what he was doing his talon reached up and was stroking her hair. 56 years hadn't aged Una to his eyes. To him, she was just as beautiful as the day she was 42.

Una reached up and began running her talon through Griff's rakish Mohawk. A tingle ran down his spine to the tip of his tail. He held her closer, breathing deeply the lilac and honeysuckle scent of her hair.

Then a very different scent wafted past his nose. Cherry blossoms. Just a subtle, tangier scent that sent Griff's emotions into a tailspin, and briefly reminded him of a gargoyle he had met nine months before.

His feelings for Una far outweighed his feelings for that particular female…but the tizzy of emotions were just enough to snap Griff out of whatever emotional black hole he'd found himself being sucked into.

"No!" he yelped, releasing Una, and stepping away from her. He caught 'Brianna's' face out of the corner of his eye, and noticed that she was smiling, almost triumphantly. Griff shook himself free.

Lilac and honeysuckle and cherry blossom and cave mildew and the concrete-like scent of a gargoyle still flooded his nostrils and muddled his brain, but at least he had presence of mind once again.

"Griff!" Una exclaimed, reaching for him.

"No!" Griff snapped again. "It isn't right. Gargoyles mate for life, Una. And you are Leo's mate."

"Leo would understand," Una said, reaching for him. Griff slapped her talon away. "He would-,"

"Understand, perhaps," Griff said. "But he'd still be heartbroken. I've seen the way he looks at you, Una. I know he loves you."

"We thought you were dead," Una said. "If we had known…"

"But I wasn't dead, Una. I didn't EXIST," Griff said. "For 56 years, I simply wasn't. For me, mere seconds passed and I went from 1940 to 1996. And you? 56 years. Dead or not. Existing or not, you and Leo fell in Love. You mated. And you _belong_ together. It will always pain me. And I will always wonder what might have been. But I knew the risks when I went out to fight the Nazis. Knew them and accepted them. And as much as it hurts…I am happy that you and Leo found each other. That you took care of each other. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way."

"And if I knew the outcome of that night," Griff said. "Going in…I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Because the Nazis needed to be stopped. And Arthur needs his knights. Some things are worth more than the love lives of a pair of star crossed gargoyles."

Una looked hurt…and then vanished. Dissolving into a puff of smoke.

"She was never really here," Griff said, turning and looking at 'Brianna'. "Was she?"

'Brianna' shook her head.

"There's some sort of sorcery at work here…I think you know more than you're telling me."

She nodded, but then tapped on the scar across her throat.

"I was afraid that's what you weren't going to say."

The mute gargoyle glared at him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"They killed Sir Bhors," Fleur said, guardedly.

"That much I had gathered already," Arthur said, staring her down. "And I take it that Sir Percival is a part of this band? These…Illuminati?"

"I…" Fleur floundered.

"I thought as much," Arthur said. "You did not conceal it well, milady. 'The man I loved is dead'? That's what you said. Not "the Illuminati killed him'. Why would he do this?"

"He wanted to set things right," Fleur said, refusing to meet his gaze. "At least…at first."

"It matters not what happened in the past," Arthur said. "You can share in your own time. Tell me of our current situation. Our current enemies."

"Watson Doyle," Fleur said. "At least that's what he goes by now. Sort of the Illuminati treasurer. Runs the budget, allocates money for projects, raises capital. That sort of thing. Nasty piece of work. Murderer. Thief. Organized Crime baron. Sometimes called 'The Napoleon of Crime' not that you'd know who Napoleon is…"

"Eighteenth Century Gaul—French—Emperor," Arthur said, impatiently. "I did some basic catching up on the history of Britain when I returned. I know the outline, anyway, if not the details."

"You do?" Fleur said. " _You_ do?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "I'm certain that Merlin would have a heart attack to learn that I was studying history of my own volition. But it did seem rather necessary. If only to learn about the current monarchy in place in Britain. Which I have no intention of claiming or usurping."

Fleur nodded. "Well throughout that history…From Charlemagne to King Henry the Eighth. Genghis Khan and Kamehameha II, Saladin, Richard the Lionhearted, Saturninus, Constantine and Blackbeard and Shahryar, and Thomas Jefferson, and hundred of other rulers and monarchs throughout history, the Illuminati has touched each of their lives, manipulating them and twisting them towards their own nefarious goals."

"Which are?"

"I'm not even sure that they know anymore." Fleur said bitterly. "Saving the world is the tagline that they give. Making it a better place, they claim. A better place for them, if you ask me. Destroying lives and committing genocide in the name of 'the greater good'."

Arthur nodded, as if trying to wrap his head around what Fleur was telling him.

"Watson Doyle. Thief, murderer, and master criminal," Arthur said. "And the others?"

"The fat man is John Oldcastle," Fleur said. "Or 'Falstaff' as he goes by now. He was recruited by Doyle to guard the physical treasury. Also a murderer and a thief. Those others are Falstaff's minions."

"Sir Percival certainly had been keeping interesting company as of late," Arthur said, frowning.

"Tip of the Iceberg, Arthur," Fleur replied. "I could tell you stories about 'Tamora the Goth'. Or 'Grace O'Malley'. Hildegard Hellstrom. Hassan-i Sabbah. Or perhaps Diego de Landa? All of whom serve the Illuminati. History's greatest monsters. Not to mention 'Tenzin Chung.'" Fleur spat this last name. "My equal in rank…And one of the most vile men to ever set foot out of Mongolia."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Matt and Elisa stepped out of the Elevators into the great hall of Castle Wyvern in the Eyrie Building. The entire clan was gathered there, staring at a television screen that Coldstone had awkwardly hooked his cybernetics to. Lexington was also hooked into Coldstone's systems, and was monitoring his systems.

The screen showed images of the exterior of the Nightstone Unlimited building. Stone statues of cybernetic gargoyles adorned the exterior of the building.

"I have counted sixteen of the Thailog-Class shock troopers," Coldstone was saying.

"The guy sure does love his own face," Broadway commented.

"What?" Elisa said frowning.

"Coldstone and Coldfire have been running daytime patrols past the Nightstone Unlimited building," Katana said, quietly filling Matt and Elisa in as they joined the group. "They are now sharing the intelligence that they gathered."

"Sixteen Thailog-Class troops," Coldstone repeated. "And eleven Brentwood-Class troopers."

Lexington winced almost violently.

"By comparison, there's only two Hollywood, Burbank, and Malibu troops each," Coldstone said.

He sucked in a deep breath, which was out of habit more than anything else. "And these…" He said, as the monitor showed six new cybernetic statues at the far end of the building."

"Katana, Gnash, and Tachi cyber-clones," Brooklyn scowled.

"How did he even get Tachi's DNA?" Broadway demanded. "She wasn't even at the fight at Madison Square Gardens."

"It doesn't matter," Brooklyn said. "He clearly knows that the Colds are running daytime patrols. He put the troops on the roof for a reason. He doesn't care if we know about his numbers. He doesn't care if we know that he has Tachi's DNA. He's showing off. He WANTS us to know. He's purposely messing with us."

"It would take no effort to end the threat," Coldstone said, staring at his arm blaster. "One daylight sweep."

"And then we're no better than Demona," Goliath counter argued. "Despite the atrocity that Thailog has committed by mutilating these clones…they're still living gargoyles. We kill them, and we've sunk to a level that I don't think that we'll ever recover from."

"Agreed," Coldstone said, bitterly. "And he knows it too…It's why he's doing this."

"We saw no sign of the Beasts having cybernetic-clones," Coldfire said. "Nor any sign of them whatsoever."

"So he's still holding once last ace up his sleeve," Brooklyn said.

"It's still a start," Goliath said. "Despite that gap, we now know something that we didn't before. The Shock Troops number 39 total."

"Unless he's holding back others inside," Elisa piped up.

"A distinct possibility," Goliath acknowledged "But I'm inclined to think, for the moment at least, that these are accurate numbers. As Brooklyn said. He wanted us to know. His ego rivals that of Xanatos. It will be his downfall, eventually."

The clan broke apart to attend to various separate activities. Goliath embraced Elisa, gently stroking her hair while wrapping her up in his wings. They held each other for a lingering moment before breaking the embrace.

"Need to talk to Brooklyn," Elisa said. "Got some…Timely questions for him."

They looked around, but Brooklyn had already departed the room.

"I believe he was intending to spend some 'alone time' with Katana," Goliath said. "I will find him for you, my love."

"Thanks," Elisa said smiling lovingly back at her mate. "Matt and I will wait here in the hall."

"So I found him," Matt said, pulling out a folder from his trench coat.

"You did?" Elisa said, turning to her partner in surprise.

"Yeah," Matt said. "He wasn't in any criminal database. That's why we couldn't find him before you left."

"So where did you find him?" Elisa asked.

Matt pulled out a two-year-old copy of Forbes magazine from the folder.

"Tenzin Chung," Matt said pointing to the cover as he handed the magazine to her. "Believe it or not…that's the only available picture of him anywhere. He's practically a ghost…but a really REALLY rich ghost."

Matt gestured to their surroundings. "Makes Goliath's landlord look downright frugal by comparison. This guy practically runs the Asian stock market. And I do mean that quite literally. He's got stock in every publicly traded company in Asia. From Hello Kitty, to Bushido Concepts. Bubble Tea to Weisex computers, I kept looking until I had to leave for here, but I flat-out couldn't find one company he didn't have his hands in."

"Tenzin Chung, huh?" Brooklyn said from behind them, making both detectives jump. "Is that what he calls himself these days?"

"So you have met him?" Matt asked, handing the magazine to Brooklyn. Who began skimming the article with his one eye.

"Oh yeah. We've met. Couple of times," Brooklyn replied. "Katana's the one who gave him those scars."

"I thought those were gargoyle claw marks," Matt said quietly. "What did he do to piss her off that much?"

"He killed me," Brooklyn said absently, still engrossed in the magazine.

"Wait, what?" Elisa snapped.

"Stabbed me in the chest with my own katana," Brooklyn said. "After Katana left him that lovely parting gift, the phoenix showed up and danced us to 2199, where the medical technology is…well significantly better, so I survived. But I was legally dead for like ten minutes. I'd never seen Katana so shaken up before."

"When was this? World War Two? Late Eighteen Hundreds?" Matt inquired.

"Uh no…" Brooklyn said, looking back at Matt quizzically. "I didn't exactly have a calendar, but twelfth or thirteenth century would be my guess."

Elisa and Matt stared at Brooklyn.

"I knew that the Illuminati had rejuvenation drugs," Matt said. "That arrested the aging process, but…Twelfth Century? Really?"

"Well yeah…" Brooklyn said. "He calls himself 'Tenzin Chung' now, but back when I first met him, he went by 'Temujin'. You know…Genghis Khan."

A chill ran down Matt's spine.

"He was in my apartment this morning," Matt said vaguely. "The most vicious and dangerous warlord in human history was in my apartment this morning."

Elisa placed a comforting hand on Matt's shoulder.

"I don't know about _most_ dangerous," Brooklyn said, casually putting the magazine back in the folder. "I mean…Attila the Hun was an actual blood-sucking vampire."

In the nearby security room, Xanatos steepled his fingers and glanced at Owen. "Rejuvenation drugs, huh? I think that I need to be more active in my Illuminati membership, Owen."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Griff and 'Brianna' entered the final chamber. Roy Bredbeddle stood between the two gargoyles and the exit to the caverns.

"I wish I could say I was surprised to see that you beat us here," Griff said, glowering at the hunter.

"I have a map," Bredbeddle said. Holding up a piece of parchment.

Griff cocked an eye at the man dressed in camouflage before removing his lightning gun from the holster.

"Brianna walks out," Griff said. "And you get me."

'Brianna' violently shook her head.

"Go!" Griff snapped. "Now!"

The green female slowly, cautiously walked past Bredbeddle and made her way to the cave entrance…and then darted out through the opening.

Griff suddenly squeezed the trigger on his broken gun and threw it at the entrance at the same time. It exploded into a massive sphere of electricity collapsing the entrance to the cave.

"What was the point of that?" Bredbeddle demanded.

"Don't really trust you," Griff said. "This buys her time to get as far away from your reach as possible while you have to make your way to another entrance.

"Fair enough," Roy said, stroking his mustache. "Once I have my trophy, I won't need her anyway. Are you going to run back into the caves now?"

"No," Griff said, shaking his head. "You kept your word. I'm keeping mine."

The green London gargoyle gently knelt down and stretched out his neck. "Make it quick, please."

Bredbeddle hefted the giant axe from his back and approached Griff. Stepping up beside him and raising the axe up high.

Griff closed his eyes. He wasn't a particularly spiritual gargoyle, he didn't know if praying before meeting his end was appropriate. But gargoyles believed that God was in everything, and everything was in God. So he figured that maybe a message could be passed on.

 _I'm sorry Una_ , he thought. _I'm going to disappear again, and you'll never even know why. I'm sorry Arthur…I wish I could have served you longer, been a better knight. I'm sorry Sakura. I'm sorry Staghart and Coco; I wish I'd gotten know you all better._

Bredbeddle swung the axe downward. Griff squeezed his eyes shut tight. He felt the cold metal blade pass through his neck…and then…nothing.

No pain…and his head remained firmly attached to his body.

"Odd," he said out loud.

He opened his eyes. Bredbeddle and Brianna were standing in front of him, smiling.

"What?" Griff asked. Brianna helped Griff to his feet.

"You passed, my boy," Bredbeddle said, smirking.

"Passed?"

"Aye," the hunter said. Suddenly, his entire body below his neckline vanished, just sort of dissolved into green mist. Brianna's head did the same. The headless gargoyle body snatched the body-less human head out of the air and placed it upon her neck.

The two halves glowed and merged. Standing before Griff now was a male gargoyle, emerald green, dressed in green armor. He face was leonine, but with curving ram's horns, and he had large, emerald plumed feathered wings.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself, Sir Griff, Knight of the London Clan; Arthur's first. I am Bredbeddle, but I am also Cú Roi, Sir Bercilack, tester of knighted champions, watchdog of the Round Table. Attack dog of Oberon I am…"

"The Green Knight!" Griff exclaimed in shock, stepping back. Suddenly stepping back in surprise.

"That, I am," he smirked.

"Wait," Griff frowned. "If you're one of Oberon's Children…Didn't you just interfere in my life."

"Yes," Sir Green replied. "And no. I am the tester of knighted champions. It is my goal and sworn duty in life. You accepted the duties given to you by Arthur when you became his knight. And thus, by becoming a knight, you invited me to test you. As do all who accept the responsibilities of knighthood."

"Elton John is going to be knighted by the Queen Mum in two months," Griff smirked back. "You going to test him?"

"Perhaps now that you've suggested it," Green said coyly. "I don't test _every_ knight, Sir Griff, but every knight has the potential to be tested, should I choose to. And you are the first knight claimed by King Arthur Pendragon in almost 1,500 years. I would be remiss in my duties if I did not test you."

"Well then," Griff said. "I guess I'm glad I passed."

"You didn't just pass, Sir Griff," Green said. "You passed with flying colours. You are more noble a soul than Gawain and Lancelot put together. You have the potential to claim the Holy Grail. Arthur has chosen well. And I am pleased. The world needs a leader such as he, and he is of to an amazing start. Don't let it go to your head though.'

Green stepped forward and held his hand over the entrance to the cavern. It glowed and the rubble cleared, floating back to where it was before. Small bits of metal and plastic and glass and other debris that was once Griff's Lightning Gun swirled together and reformed into the weapon once more, floating above Sir Bercilack's hand.

"No knight is complete without his weapon, and I do owe you recompense, since it is my fault that you broke it in the first place,"

Griff grinned as he took back the weapon he had claimed from Macbeth's goon two years previous.

"Another thing, Sir Griff," The Green Knight said, waving his hand over the wall of the cave. "Should you and your master find yourselves in Ireland…. There's a young pup there who would do well to have some guidance from someone like Arthur."

Griff frowned as he looked at the illuminated carving on the wall. He recognized it as The Lia Fáil, one of the forms of the Stone of Destiny. But what intrigued the gargoyle was the image of what appeared to be a bearded man, fast asleep in a cave beneath the stone.

"Interesting." Griff murmured to himself.

"One more thing, Sir Griff," Sir Green said, interrupting the gargoyle Knight's thoughts.

"Your master is surrounded by enemies as we speak."

Griff spun around, but the Green Knight was gone. Vanished completely. In a panic, Griff dropped to all fours and loped out of the cave.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I'm sure that this is all just a misunderstanding," Falstaff said, as he approached the ancient royals.

"One that you can explain to Duval yourselves," Watson said, advancing on them as well.

Fleur reached into her purse, clutching a combination torch/taser. She wasn't particularly sure that it would be effective against Falstaff's bulk, but she was willing to give it a shot.

"Why don't you come quietly?" Watson said.

"I have no intention of going 'quietly' anywhere with a known murderer," Arthur said, holding Excalibur in one hand, and the sheath in the other. "Much less two."

Falstaff grunted. "I kind of like beardy," Falstaff said. "Not afraid to get down to the nitty-gritty as to why he doesn't like us. Gotta respect a guy like that."

"I most certainly do not," Watson said. "I respect Duval. I respect Hemmings; I respect Tenzin, and even Mycroft, despite our bad blood. But I don't respect traitors, and I don't respect strangers."

Watson rubbed the emerald at the end of his cane. It began to glow softly.

"Now…it's time we met with Duval."

Fleur looked on in horror as she could see mists forming atop the hill near the abbey. Carbonek was about to arrive, and when it did, all of her efforts for the last year would have been in vain.

Arthur glanced upwards.

"Have courage, Queen Blanchefleur," He said, smirking.

"Courage?" she said, looking back at her contemporary in surprise.

"All this time, we were looking for Sir Griff," Arthur said, smiling. "But it seems that he has found us first."

A gigantic roar ripped through the night and a bolt of electricity shot down from the sky and struck Watson Doyle. He collapsed to the ground.

"Points, Pistol, Doll!" Falstaff started to yell. "Regroup! We are under-"

KZZZZZT!

Falstaff collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

"Retreat!" Doll yelled. "It's an ambush!"

She and Points ran over and grabbed Falstaff, grabbing him and dragging him away. Pistol hefted Watson over his shoulder and glanced at Arthur and Fleur, giving them a silent, curt nod, before retreated back towards the mist forming on the hill.

"What in the world," Fleur wondered, but not for too long, as a large green griffin-like gargoyle landed next to Arthur and bowed.

Fleur suddenly gasped as everything suddenly clicked into place.

" _Mon Dieu,"_ she whispered in shock. _"Un gargouille!"_

"Queen Blanchefleur," Arthur said. "Allow me to introduce my first Knighted Champion of this new age. Sir Griff."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **January 12, 1998 Diogenes Club, London**

Fleur nodded curtly at the porter as she made her way inside the exclusive boys club. Several of the members sputtered their indignation at her presence. Fleur ignored them. The porters knew better than to try and stop her.

She entered the back room, as Mycroft reclined in his chair and munched on a bowl of jellybeans. His cigar was resting in the ashtray.

"I've been expecting you," Mycroft said, quietly.

"I thought so," Fleur said. "Glastonbury smelt like your handiwork. How did you know that both Arthur and myself were going to be there?"

"I'd love to take credit for everything that went down," Mycroft said. "But mostly it was happenstance. Happenstance that I orchestrated, but still; I've been moving the sheath of Excalibur around from Arthurian site to Arthurian site for months now, hoping that either you or King Arthur might intercept it. Imagine my surprise and pleasure when you both did. And I hear that you even kneed that asshole James right in the crotch. Oh how I would have paid to have seen that."

"So you wanted Arthur to have the scabbard?" Fleur said.

"Of course. The sword Excalibur is not complete without the sheath," Mycroft replied grinning.

"Why?" Fleur said. "You of all people have to know that once I tell Arthur about the Illuminati, he's going to want to destroy it."

"And I want it destroyed," Mycroft replied.

"You…Do?" Fleur said. "But you've been a loyal member for a hundred and fifty years…"

"You dare to ask me why I want to destroy this organization?" Mycroft said, angrily climbing to his feet and glaring at her. She was still taller than him by a foot and a half.

"When my brother came too close to finding out our secrets," Mycroft snarled angrily. " _I_ was the one who arranged for his murder at the hands of one James Moriarty. And then, to add insult to injury, I was the one who arranged for the surgery, to give Moriarty my brother's face, to let him take over my brother's _life_. And you DARE ask me why I feel like the entire organization deserves to burn in HELL?"

Fleur was taken aback.

"King Arthur is one of three men in the entire world with the power to actually destroy the Illuminati. I want him to succeed. I want the organization to burn to the ground."

"Even if you're still in it?" Fleur asked, sympathetically.

"Especially if I'm still in it. I already know that I have a special place in hell waiting for me, Fleur. I sincerely hope that my cell is between that of Duval and Moriarty, so at least I get the pleasure of watching them suffer too. That bastard calls himself 'Watson Doyle' now. Thinks he's clever."

"Did you know that there was a gargoyle clan here in London?" Fleur asked.

"Of course," Mycroft said. "It is my own backyard after all."

"No one else in the Illuminati knows?" Fleur said. "You've never told anyone?"

"I'd be very surprised if Nimue didn't know," Mycroft said. "But no, I never told the Illuminati. My brother Sherlock was a friend with the Clan. He went out of his way to protect them from anyone who might exploit them. When he died, I inherited that responsibility. I know better than anyone that we are an organization that would exploit the London Clan. So therefore, fulfilling my obligations, I did not inform the Illuminati."

"Duval will be angry," Fleur said.

"Perhaps," Mycroft acknowledged. "But since my intention is to inform Tamora before him—when the time comes—I'm not particularly afraid."

"Balance," Fleur said. "Tamora believes in balance."

"And I have arranged for that balance," Mycroft said. "The price of my brother's life is the fulfillment of his obligations. Tamora will approve. And as she is the one in charge of gargoyle affairs."

"If you want to destroy the Illuminati," Fleur asked. "Why don't you just leave?"

"I want the Illuminati to burn to the ground," Mycroft said. "Not humanity. I wouldn't have joined if I didn't believe that all this was necessary. I still do. But that is a story for another day. I expect Duval and Moriarty within the hour. And I think you don't want to see them just yet."

Fleur's eyes widened. She turned to depart.

"Fleur," Mycroft called. "The next we meet we are enemies. You won't be allowed inside the building again."

"Good," Fleur said. "The next time we meet, it will be because Arthur is burning the Illuminati to the ground."

"Good," Mycroft replied.


End file.
